


money pot, high roller

by MooksMookin, spacegirlkj



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Heist AU, Hinata Thinks He's Two Timing But He's Really Not, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, NOT miya x miya none of that here, gays do crime, thats the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 15:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15709911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooksMookin/pseuds/MooksMookin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegirlkj/pseuds/spacegirlkj
Summary: “You know," Hinata says, "I’m technically not two-timing because they both know. Either way, it's not, like, a real relationship anyways.”“Sure,” Kenma says, half bored, half exasperated as he goes back to playing with his food. “Just don’t let the not real relationships get in the way of the high stakes mission.”-Or, how Hinata and Miya Osamu and Atsumu pull off a heist and sort out the finer details between.





	money pot, high roller

**Author's Note:**

> me: wow im in a rut what should i do to get out of it  
> me: what if hinata was dating both the twins but didnt know it  
> me: what if they robbed a casino
> 
> anyways heres the fic! it took 3 days to complete because thats how i am. idk what else to put here just have fun. also writing the miya twins accent was a spiritual journey
> 
> (i feel like i need a huge big sign that says THIS IS NOT TWINCEST because it is NOT)  
> \--  
> ey mooks here i just wanna make absolutely certain that the miyas are in no way, shape, or form romantically involved with each other. they are both involved with just hinata. anyway this is gay and miyahina is my biggest weakness rn hope u enjoyyy

The first thing that Hinata registers when he wakes is the light shining in his face and the steady heartbeat second to his own. He shifts slightly, listening closely for any change before burying his face further into the source, the warmth of the body next to him fighting away the morning chill. They never really managed to wrestle the blankets back on, leaving skin the only shelter during the night, explaining well why Hinata finds his head resting not on a pillow, but in the centre of Osamu’s chest. Slowly, squinting at the beginnings of sunlight, Hinata begins to open his eyes, blearily blinking out the remnants of sleep in favour for focusing on the sleeping beauty beneath him.

Osamu’s face is slack as he dreams, long lashes brushing cheeks flushed ever so slightly in the sun’s rays. His lips, somewhat dry, lay parted as breath filters through, softer than the light from the window next to the bed and matching the rise and fall of his chest. Without noticing, Hinata has fallen into that very same rhythm, their bodies pressing closer on every inhale. When Osamu exhales, it tickles Hinata’s hair, leaves him to hum and blink heavy as he begins to slowly comb through the nest that is Osamu’s hair. It’s his fault, after all, bringing back fleeting images of fingers tangled in the strands, toes curling, arched backs and warm mouths heating skin too cool for Hinata’s liking. Another kind of warmth tickles him from the inside, leaving Hinata to sigh softly and pause his admiration, leaving a kiss to Osamu’s jaw before beginning the tedious effort of working himself free.

It would be easy enough— Osamu is no heavy sleeper, but his desire to stay is enough that Hinata should be able to move— if not for the arm that has found its home wrapped around his waist. It’s a welcome weight, one that leaves him feeling secure despite his current state of exposure, and _warm,_ warm enough that he hesitates getting up for a second longer. Bodily functions win out, unfortunately— Hinata could squirm in place but his current discomfort is enough that there’s no use is trying to fall back asleep even with the serenity of the morning around him. Slowly, he reaches behind him to lift Osamu’s arm, noting the stretch, before slipping off the bed entirely, rising to a stand.

Without the warmth of Osamu, his bare skin is left cool. Goosebumps rise and Hinata shivers, hissing as he bends over. His lower back is sore, along with the backs of his thighs, but it’s a burn that’s more of a welcome reminder than anything. He scoops up a pair of stretchy pants and underwear washed since the last time he spent the night, along with a sweater cozy and most definitely not his own. With that, he stumbles into the bathroom as quietly as he can, fighting off a yawn as he makes himself decent before heading into the kitchen.

Osamu’s apartment is welcoming. It’s large enough to fit both him and his brother, with an extra room for a guest and another that serves as their office. It looks out over the city with a fairly nice view of a nearby park, and adjacent to the living space is a balcony where a small table filled with plants and a set of chairs live. Between the twins, there’s enough income to live comfortably without worry— the beds are better than fine, the couches are plush, the tables and chair are all real wood, and the appliances are up to date. The ceilings are high enough to sport one light fixture that Hinata would call a modest, modern chandelier, which hangs over top of the glass dinner table and acts as a prism for the early morning light. Hinata’s chest flutters at the sight of rainbows cascading across the flat as he quietly makes his way to the coffee maker, hardwood floors not making a sound as he puts his years of experience in sneaking to good use.

Of course, none of this would be possible for the average twenty-something living in the biggest city in the country. But Hinata is not average, and neither is Osamu, or Atsumu, or the vast majority of the people he’s surrounded himself with since he left high school. Because although Hinata knows where Osamu keeps the freshly ground coffee he likes and the milk and fine sugar, he also knows the location of six guns and twenty-two knives— weapons, not counting the kitchenware— knows where the cameras and the motion sensors lie and knows, by heart, the combination to rid the alarm set when he’s the last one to leave. They aren’t average, and they aren’t the people to take risks on these sorts of things— in their lifestyle, risks are better suited for when things, or people, need to be taken care of.

Hinata passes one of the stashed weapons and instead grabs the coffee grinds, still fresh, according to the date written on tape along the top, and busies himself with preparing coffee. Osamu’s sweater has led his mind astray in the early morning hours, the familiar scent of spice, vanilla, and cotton leading his mind down a dangerous rabbit hole. He takes a deep breath, pretends his nose is still pressed against Osamu’s chest, and opens his eyes to reality. He has plans, none of which involve spending the day in bed with Osamu.

 _They could,_ his mind argues, and _dammit,_ the devil on his shoulder has a point. They’re expecting the same phone call from the same client— a splendid surprise that left Hinata grinning when he found out they’d be working together— and if not for the lunch Hinata had promised Kenma they’d share together, he’d have already stripped himself of everything but the sweater and climbed back into Osamu’s arms.

Hell, he probably would never have left.

But plans are plans, and Hinata has already slept in long enough. The coffee machine continues to whir and Hinata continues to _not_ think about Osamu’s hands gripping his waist, Osamu’s mouth kissing down his neck, Osamu’s hips pressing against his—

The coffee machine beeps, and Hinata, despite never having the taste for it, pours himself half a cup. He has a feeling he’s in need of it.

The sound of the machine or the mugs clinking softly against the marble countertop leads to the sound of footsteps growing closer, something in the bustle having finally drawn Osamu from his sleep. Hinata fights the urge to lift the corners of his lips as strong arms wrap around him once more, stealing his mug as Hinata turns around to face Osamu. His hair has been tamed, somewhat, enough that it doesn’t resemble the bird’s nest under the balcony. Hinata lets himself be pushed up against the counter, eyes roaming Osamu’s bare chest, stopping at his low slung sweatpants before creeping back up to watch him take a long sip. It’s not long after that he makes a face, Hinata’s composure breaking.

“You put sugar in it,” Osamu murmurs, looking down at the mug incredulously as Hinata snorts, pulling it from his hands.

“That’s because it’s mine,” Hinata tells him, reaching behind to grab the second mug and hold it between their bodies. “This is yours. Milk, no sugar. You really think I’d suddenly forget?”

Osamu shrugs, trading mugs with him. He takes a sip of his own, making no move to step back, leaving their hips pressed together as he nearly drains the mug. “No,” he tells him, setting the mug down. “But you forgot a lot of things last night.”

Hinata tilts his head. “Did I?”

“Mhm.” Osamu’s eyes gleam as he rests a hand on Hinata’s waist, thumb pressing into the skin of his stomach as his eyes dance over Hinata. “Would be safe to say y’forgot everythin’ but my name.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Hinata responds, noticing how Osamu leans closer, bending slightly to lessen the difference in their heights. He sets his own mug on the counter and both hands, now free, on Osamu’s chest. “It explains why I don’t remember anything from yesterday but you.”

“I can jog your memory,” Osamu mumbles, leaning further so that his lips can press beside Hinata’s ear. Hinata’s breath hitches, and he counts to ten and looks across the kitchen at the clock on the stove that reminds him he has just over an hour to navigate through city traffic and meet Kenma. It puts a damper on the burning sensation of Osamu’s hands under his sweater, running along his bare skin once more. “Is this mine?” he whispers, right beside Hinata’s ear, and Hinata can almost feel the smirk in response to his shudder.

“I-it is,” Hinata tells him, voice wavering as he turns his head, slotting their lips together. The kiss is soft in the way the morning has been, a little bit tired, but reminiscent of the night before, fueled with enough passion to not be considered chaste by any means. Hinata only pulls away once a hand cradles the back of his head, just how he loves it, stepping away from Osamu despite his body’s own wishes.

“Unfortunately,” Hinata says, licking the taste of mint toothpaste off his lips as Osamu’s hands slide off his skin. “I remember I have plans now.”

“Do ya want help forgettin’ them?” Osamu asks, not a second later. His offer hovers between the two as the chandelier casts shards of light over his face, illuminating skin browned by birth and the sun combined, shining off of now slick lips and half brushed hair. Hinata knows Kenma wouldn’t mind him bailing, but his word is his word, and Hinata has always been one to keep it.

Hinata steps forwards, rises to the very tips of his toes, and presses a kiss to Osamu’s jaw. “I’ll talk to you later tonight,” he says instead, smiling as he steps away.

Osamu mirrors his expression, reaching for his coffee once more. “You know where to find me.” It’s an offer Hinata won’t refuse, one he’ll take up when the time is right. He isn’t picky and neither is Osamu, so Hinata leaves without worry and lets the memory of sweat slick bodies tingle on the edges as he makes his way down the elevator, letting himself ease into the day. It isn’t hard, what with the night he had to sleep on leaving him feeling oh-so good.

It’s when he slips into his car that his phone rings— real phone, not burner. He sets his bag on the passenger seat and swipes open his messages, grinning down at the message displayed.

 

**_Atsumuuu_ **

**_11:03 am_ **

_are u up for meeting smtime tonite?_

 

Hinata tosses the phone onto the seat with his bag, and presses the ignition. For as good as he feels, he knows he’s allowed to be a little bad.

—

“You know, I’m _technically_ not two-timing because they both know. Either way, it's not, like, a _real_ relationship anyways.”

Kenma looks dubiously at Hinata, noodles halfway to his mouth as he stops to look Hinata in the eye. He puts his chopsticks back down, sighs heavily, and closes the laptop that has just begun to display an error screen as Hinata kicks the table’s legs.

“Sure,” Kenma says, half bored, half exasperated as he goes back to playing with his food. “Just don’t let the _not real_ relationships get in the way of the high stakes mission.”

Hinata rolls his eyes, hands slamming down on the table of the small booth they’ve snagged in the corner of the restaurant. _“Kenma,_ you have such little faith in me! You say that like I’m not a professional.”

Kenma finishes slurping his noodles. “It’s not you I’m worried about. Which one left the mark?” he asks, motioning to the giant, purple mark high on Hinata’s neck.

Hinata instantly slaps a hand to his throat, eyes widening. He grabs his bag and rifles through it, pulling out a small compact mirror. He’s quick to open it, brow furrowing as he catches a glimpse of the hickey.

“Osamu…” Hinata whines, as if the man could hear his complaint, and as if he wouldn’t just smirk and start to leave another. He pokes the bruise once more before snapping the mirror shut, turning back to Kenma with cheeks flushed pink from embarrassment.

“Osamu,” Kenma says slowly. “Is he the blonde one with the sewage personality?”

“N-neither of them have sewage personalities!” Hinata exclaims, face well past red as he reaches for his drink. “And Atsumu is the blonde. Osamu has ashy hair. Kinda grey, kinda brown?”

Kenma nods in acknowledgement, continuing to eat in silence. Hinata huffs, defeated in the face of Kenma’s savage analysis of his current relationship status, and picks at the remainder of his food, glancing every so often to the burner lying on the table between them. They’ve both been in the business that is the city’s underbelly long enough not to question how Hinata’s fingertips drum on the knotted wood next to it, how Kenma’s eyes track each person walking through the door, how the pair both house knives in their pockets in the off chance they’ll need them.

After thirteen minutes, the burner rings, leaving Hinata to smile at Kenma. “That’s my cue,” he sings. “Watch my bag while I’m out, ‘kay?”

Kenma nods, pulling back out his laptop as Hinata answers the phone, ducking past a server and into the single stalled bathroom. It’s quiet, save the whir of a vent and residual chatter of the restaurant that seeps through the thin walls. Hinata locks the door behind him and smiles, leaning up against the sink.

 _“Songbirds fly south for the winter,”_ a woman, her voice smooth and crisp like the early fall air.

“But foxes stay ‘round all year,” Hinata replies, reciting the code as his nails click along the porcelain of the sink.

_“Hinata Shouyou.”_

“Madame.”

 _“I trust you’ve acquainted yourself with the other two in your team for this mission,”_ she says.

Hinata catches his tongue between his teeth, hand idly rubbing against the mark on his neck. “You could say that.”

 _“Then I won’t waste time on further niceties. You will meet the client at_ The Firebird, _where you and your teammates will learn the details of this mission. You will arrive at nine-thirty, sharp, and will ask the bartender for something that burns, but something that is sweet. You will hold up three fingers. If you have any further inquiries for my employer, you will settle them then. Am I clear?”_

“Crystal,” Hinata tells her. “It’s been a pleasure.”

_“Quite.”_

With that, he’s left with the biting drone of a dial tone, cold hands, warm blood, and a taste for excitement that leaves his throat dry. He drops the burner into the sink and runs the tap for thirty seconds, before leaving the phone to dry at the bottom of the trashcan. He leaves the small bathroom with it’s chipping white tiles and slides back into the booth where Kenma still sits, hair pulled back in a messy braid with his bangs still framing his face, eyes trained on the screen. Hinata holds back a giggle at his concentration and slips enough money to cover the bill under his drink, gathering his things and slipping on the jacket he stole from Osamu’s at one point or another. He’s fairly sure it could be Atsumu’s, but shrugs off the care either way. It’s stylish, black with a deep red lining, and keeps him warm when the wind gets testy and has long since become a shared item.

“I’ll be gone for most of the night,” he tells Kenma, picking up his bag. “Don’t bother staying up.”

“Use protection,” Kenma mumbles, continuing to type.

“Don’t worry! I’d never do business without a gun,” Hinata says, bumping Kenma’s shoulder on his way out.

—

Hinata leaves his apartment at a quarter to nine, dressed in black jeans and a button down rolled up to his elbows. The jacket he stole rests on his shoulders, sleeves hanging empty behind him as he follows the directions to the hole in the wall haven known as _The Firebird._ It isn’t his first time there, nor his last, the way a simple maze of turns and streets he’s memorized years ago. The city slips into the night with every passing moment, twilight darkening to black, neon signs and storefronts brightening into a mosaic of blinding lights. Hinata never gets tired of them, admires them for a second longer before pulling off into one of the side streets to park, making his way through sidewalks and alleyways alike until he’s met with the staircase at the back of a dentist’s office leading down towards a red cellar door. He smiles, all teeth, at the camera above the door, listening for the click before pushing through, out of the cold and into _The Firebird’s_ core.

The interior is dim, lit only by the odd red and orange lights that flicker when the door shuts behind him. It highlights the brown lacquered wood and the black leather seats, tables crammed into the small space with enough room to lay your secrets out with only a few prying eyes. A quick scan reveals a scattered few patrons nursing drinks in various booths, one woman asleep with her head leaning on the wall, two men playing cards as smoke wisps from still burning cigarettes. Hinata passes them all, makes his way to the empty bar where the silver haired bartender stands, idly cleaning a glass. He looks up to meet Hinata’s eyes as he approaches, setting the rag down and moving to store the glass with the rest.

“And what can I get for you?” he asks smoothly, fingers resting at the edge of a bottle of something dark that lies on the spotless counter.

Hinata shrugs, humming as he leans against one of the empty stools. “Something that burns, but something that’s sweet,” he tells him, holding up three fingers. The barkeep nods, walking around to unlock the gate behind the bar, allowing Hinata to step in as he unlocks a door next to the large liquor cabinet against the wall. It creaks as it opens, the barkeep leading him down a plush hall no darker than the bar itself, stopping at the third door from the end. He steps aside, lips quirked, waiting for Hinata to touch the door knob before heading back out to watch the bar.

The room is nearly empty, with exposed brick walls bare of any art or decoration. All that lies in the room is a single table, industrial in design and a shiny grey in colour, ten wooden stools pulled up and angled towards a single push armchair at the head of the table. Sitting in that very chair is none other than Atsumu, legs kicked over the side without a care for shame or reputation alike. The top few buttons of his black shirt are left undone, pants hugging calves and thighs and stopping to rest at his waist. He grins as Hinata shuts the door, elbowing Osamu, who leans up against the table like any normal person would, eyes still locked with Hinata’s as he speaks.

“Well, would ya look at that,” he says, throwing an arm over the back of the chair. “That’s where my good jacket went.”

Hinata feels his cheeks heat as his blush travels down his neck. “It was on the floor,” he says in meek defence, approaching the twins.

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “And whose fault is that?” he drones, looking over his shoulder at Osamu, who simply shrugs.

 _“I_ bought it. You’re the one stealin’ my shit,” he says. “Besides, Shouyou wears it better.”

Hinata coughs, the use of his first name bringing enough of a fluster that it becomes notable to the twins. They look at him with matching smug grins, faces speaking every taunt without words.

“T-the client won’t think very highly of you sitting like that,” Hinata blurts out in desperate need of a change of conversation. Twin pairs of eyes lay too heavy on him, too hot for such a small room with business lining the walls. Atsumu sighs, taking his comment in stride as he checks the gold watch strapped to his wrist.

“Client won’t be here ‘till half past— we’ve got five,” he says, looking back up to Hinata as Osamu pushes one of the stools out of the way and sits on the table. “Scared of makin’ a bad impression?”

“Scared of not getting paid,” Hinata mumbles. It isn’t a bad thing to be afraid of; the pot is a hundred million yen, and even once it’s split between the three, it’ll be more money than Hinata has ever earned at once.

“We’re good at our job,” Osamu assures him, leather jacket falling off his back to rest around his elbows. “They know that.”

Hinata’s eyes follow the tendon of his neck before he looks away, taking a seat at one of the stools across from him. “Right,” he says, more to himself than anything.

Atsumu playfully kicks his side, drawing Hinata’s attention towards him. His foot stays there, resting at the juncture of Hinata’s hip for a moment as Atsumu licks his lips, eyes trailing over Hinata’s frame until the sound of footsteps has all three holding their posture until the door opens.

In steps a man in his late fifties, Hinata would guess, hair black but peppered with grey to show age, stress, or a combination of the two. His suit is black and fits well, tie forgone despite his shirt being buttoned to the top. Calm exterior, but watchful eyes, nervous enough to show his uncertainty in an area such as this. Wedding band, married, large faced watch, wealthy, and a briefcase that suggests a job with status— business, bureaucracy, or somewhere in between. Out of respect, prosperity, habit, or the three sets of eyes beginning to pick him apart, the man straightens, setting the briefcase down onto the table and opening it with haste.

“I will cut to the chase,” he says, voice strong and accented. Foreign. “My name is Zhao Yong, and I need you to take a very important hard drive from a very popular man, and I need you to do it on the date previously specified.”

“And who’d this man be?” Osamu asks. He tends to do the talking in these moments— his brother doesn’t negotiate well if he’s expected to be kind, and from Hinata’s experience, he has a way with words.

“Yamamoto Daisuke,” he tells him, pulling a folder from the case. “He owns the Marigold casino, which I designed. These,” he says, pushing the folder across the table, “are the maps of the entire facility. He lives in the penthouse suite of the second tower, and my sources tell me the hard drive is in his bedroom safe.”

“These… sources,” Atsumu drawls, kicking his legs off the side to sit upright. “Do they say anything about how to get in?”

The man nods quickly, taking out a second, smaller file. “It has not deviated from my original plan. There is still a master key, which I have been told lies with both him and his personal head bodyguard, who will be in attendance,” he tells them, watching intently as Hinata picks up the file an flips through, looking at the photos of the keycards, hard drive, and personnel. “I have everything I need, save the people to take it, and those I asked pointed me in the direction of you three.”

Hinata looks up from the file, idly passing the folder to Atsumu. A good reputation means many things, and well paying jobs is one of them. “Have you done this before?” he asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

Yong smiles wryly, shaking his head. “I, well, I was never one to operate in this way. That was always Daisuke’s business,” he confesses, closing the latches on his briefcase. “The hard drive contains a few… personal missteps that keep me from suing him. It also contains information that would reveal his relation to some darker dealings, among other things. I would prefer to be in possession of it than have it be in his hands.”

“Darker dealin’s?” Osamu asks, tucking away the two folders.

“Let’s just say that Daisuke will not go to the police about this missing item,” Yong responds. “If you are as good as they all say, then you have nothing to worry about. The entire details of the building are yours, including the alarm override codes.”

“Sounds easy,” Hinata says, resting his elbows onto the table. “We get that keycard, and it’s smooth sailing.”

Yong nods once more, taking  his briefcase off the table. “When you’ve finished, you’ll meet my associate at the location written in the file. The money will then be wired to your offshore accounts.” He takes a curt bow, offering them one last strained smile as he glances back at the door. “If you have no other questions, I’ll be taking my leave.”

“It’s been a pleasure doin’ business,” Osamu tells him.

“Leave it to us!” Hinata adds, mind buzzing with plans and ideas still in need of fleshing out. Beside him, Atsumu stays silent, nodding as Yong slips out of the room and shuts the door behind him, footsteps growing lighter as he makes his way from the bar.

The moment he leaves, Atsumu snorts, pushing out of the chair. “Bet he pissed his fuckin’ pants,” he snickers, standing up to push Osamu’s shoulder as he hops off the table. “Ya can tell he’s not used to this by the way he talked. Whatever dirt this Daisuke guy’s got on ‘em, it’s probably somethin’ small. Sonuvabitch probably cheated on his wife— all his types do.”

“His type?” Hinata asks, raising a brow as he stands, stretching out his arms.

“Corporate bastard,” Atsumu says, as if it’s explanation enough. He looks over his shoulder at Hinata and narrows his eyes, teeth catching his lips. It lasts only a moment before he returns to the task of pestering Osmau. “Gonna sleep on those files?”

“Gonna read ‘em first,” Osamu says. “You can plan tomorrow. You’re a better tactician after a good night’s sleep.”

Atsumu hums, flicking his brother’s cheek. Osamu swats his hand away in retaliation. “You know me so well,” he jests. “Nothin’ pairs better with coffee than a mission to plan and two hours of relative silence.”

“Are you headed back?” Hinata asks, making his way around the table to lean against the wall.

“Fuck no,” Atsumu cackles, eyes honing in on Hinata’s. “I’ve got plans.”

Hinata gulps at the same time that Osamu huffs. “Well, I don’t. Take a cab home— I’ve got the keys,” he says, pulling them from his pocket and twirling them around his finger. He steps backwards towards the door, Hinata watching as a knowing smile graces his lips. “I’ll see ya around.”

With that, three becomes two, the air in the small, empty room suddenly filling with tension as Atsumu steps towards Hinata, close enough that their bodies brush. Hinata looks up, relishing in the difference in their heights as Atsumu eyes him up in full. Hinata has grown out of his insecurity, but a lingering shyness shines through as Atsumu’s gaze lands on the mark on his neck, iced earlier in the day but only covered by a thin layer of foundation. Hinata worries his lip between his teeth as Atsumu grins.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Atsumu asks, cocking his head. “Somethin’… sweet, but somethin’ that burns?”

Hinata chases the adrenaline, pretending to mull over the choice as he backs away towards the door. “How about just sweet? We can get to the _burn_ later.”

That earns him a chuckle, Atsumu shaking his head as he steps closer to place a hand at the small of Hinata’s back while he reaches for the door. “You’re still so full of surprises.”

Hinata leans into the touch, letting Atsumu guide him back into the hall. The second the door is closed behind him, however, Hinata’s back is pressed up against it, a dull _thud_ knocking the wind out of him as Atsumu pins him against it, slanting their lips together without a wasted moment. Hinata has no time to catch his breath as he parts his lips, hands moving to anchor themselves in Atsumu’s hair, feeling the back of his freshly shaved undercut before fingers tangle in the longer, blonde strands. Atsumu slides his tongue against Hinata’s and presses deeper, leaning down to his height as Hinata hums in assent. When Hinata chases him, he bites his lip, nibbling on it before Hinata falls back, panting.

“Th-thought you said you’d buy me a drink first,” Hinata says.

“Never said _first,”_ Atsumu says, voice deep and rough. “I ain’t a gentleman or anythin’.” He dips down, dragging kisses over the cut of Hinata’s jaw. “Thought you’d know that by now.”

Hinata hums, eyes fluttering shut as Atsumu continues to press open mouth kisses against his skin. “The drink, Atsumu,” he mumbles. “Then we can both get what we want.”

Atsumu huffs, licking a stripe up towards his ear. “Alright, then,” he whispers, Hinata shuddering as his voice dips. “We can play that game.”

With that, he leans away, giving Hinata room to breathe yet somehow still stealing his breath. His hand returns to the small of his back, guiding him back out towards the bar. It’s even hotter now, doubled by the dim lighting that serves only to bring out the golden tones of his skin and honey hues of his hair, shadows casted in his collarbones and jaw leaving Hinata yearning to trace them with the tip of his tongue. Atsumu orders him _something pink,_ and the barkeep gets the gist well enough to mix a drink that leaves Hinata buzzing even without the hand that slips down into his back pocket, resting on his ass. Atsumu makes no further move until Hinata has drained his glass, leaving the change on the counter and his eyes locked with Hinata’s the entire time.

“You take the train?” he asks— two questions, evident in the subtle raise of his brow.

“My car,” Hinata replies— an answer, _yes,_ twice over. Atsumu squeezes his ass, the pair leaving out the front door and up the set of stairs, through the allies and streets before finishing the keys from his coat. Hinata unlocks the car, headlights flashing once as Atsumu guides him towards the passenger side, opens the door, and promptly yanks him forwards to send them both down onto the seat.

From there, it’s a hasty show of hands as they slam the door behind them and migrate to Hinata’s tiny backseat, not large enough to warrant a second set of doors but big enough for Atsumu to lie Hinata down and kiss him senseless. Hinata’s head hits the black leather, sheltered by a hand, and Atsumu begins a mission titled _payback,_ titled _teasing,_ titled _coy,_ titled _this game we play where we pretend neither of us are as desperate as we really are._ Their lips slot together in a practiced motion, Hinata swiping his tongue along Atsumu’s bottom lip as their chests press together in the confined space. Atsumu’s tongue slides against his and he licks into his mouth and presses behind his teeth, lips smacking when they pull apart for air. It’s never for long, both drawn back into each other, teeth clashing, Atsumu determined to lick every last trace of sugar and raspberry vodka from Hinata’s mouth.

Hinata’s hands find their way back into Atsumu’s hair as his own move to rest at his hips, untucking his button down and rucking the shirt up enough to expose his abdomen. Hinata sighs and bites down on Atsumu’s lips as thumbs press against his sides, fingers digging into skin that heats with every passing moment. Atsumu kisses not messy, but wet, saliva connecting their mouths as he leans back, a grin across spit-shined lips the only warning Hinata gets before those hands slide up his chest to pinch his nipples and slot a knee between his legs.

“Fu— _mngh!”_ Hinata starts, curse cut off as Atsumu returns to kissing him, hands now busy with popping buttons and teasing his nipples with his thumbs. Soon, his chest is exposed to the air, Atsumu continuing his motions as he kisses Hinata. It’s a constant drag of slick lips and stolen breaths, Hinata squirming down against the leg between his thighs as Atsumu hums low, the warm tone reverberating through their chests. Hinata moves his hands from his hair to begin attempting to pull at Atsumu’s shirt, a clear indication that he’d like it _off._

Atsumu, of course, ignores it, tweaking Hinata’s nipple again at the same time he nips his lip. A noise slips past Hinata’s lips and is swallowed, Atsumu leaning back to take in the sight of Hinata, still trying in vain not to writhe, hair a mess and blush creeping down his chest— desperate, disheveled, _debauched._ Hinata whines, all his early spry gone in favour of grinding down against Atsumu’s thigh as he clicks his tongue and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You gonna say this is what you wanted?” he asks, leaning back down so that his lips ghost the shell of Hinata’s ear. “It’ll all come easy once you admit to it. We both know whatcha want, after all.”

Hinata’s eyes squeeze shut at his gravelled tone, Atsumu’s grading composure beginning to show through the roughness of his voice. It leads to yet another full body shudder, one that Atsumu takes in stride as his hands roam Hinata’s chest. He can feel Atsumu’s breath, hot and moist, fanning out against the juncture of his neck and jaw, the sound of his breathing leading to yet another shiver as Hinata licks his lips and sighs, shaky, holding the last threads of his composure.

“C’mon, _Shouyou,”_ Atsumu whispers, and it’s all Hinata needs to wrap his arms around his shoulder and hold him closer, a breathy moan escaping him as he lets the rest of the world escape him.

 _“Atsumu,”_ he whines. “You— ah— this is what I— what I wanted. Ev-ever since I walked in that room, I… I wanted…”

Atsumu slowly leans back, hands leaving Hinata’s skin to work off the buttons of his shirt. Slowly, tantalizingly, he shrugs it off, tossing it away with the coat that has long since fallen off of Hinata’s shoulders, leaving him bare chested and beaming with pride as Hinata squirms.

“Simple, hm?” he tells him, leaning back down to press another kiss to Hinata’s lips. “You’re _all_ _mine_ now.”

Hinata _keens_ , surging up and tugging Atsumu closer once more. Atsumu chuckles against his lips, quick to resume with a reignited fervour, kisses hot with tongue as he presses deeper and deeper. Hinata lets his arms go slack, one slipping off the side of the seat while the other stays slung around broad, strong shoulders, his blunt nails beginning to dig into Atsumu’s skin. Atsumu breaks the kiss and leaves Hinata reeling as his mouth travels down along his jaw, leaving Hinata breathing heavy as he grinds down against him. Hot kisses turn into bites on already bruised skin, Atsumu moving to the other side of Hinata’s neck to find a place to suck a new mark, Hinata beginning to leave scratches on his back as their hips grind together.

The windows fog and the air grows stiff and heavy, but neither mind, embracing the moment and the way the tight space forces them closer together. Hinata will chide Atsumu for having lube in his pocket the whole time, and Atsumu chide back at Hinata for making him use it in his car, but for now, the two move against each other in a way that leaves them both a little more than breathless, bent in acute angles and sweat slick by the time it’s all over. And Hinata knows Atsumu well enough to have expected all of this, but still finds himself caught up in the moment of it all, still finds his mind running to catch up as Atsumu lies, a heavy weight on top of him. They’re naked and Hinata’s car smells like sex and sweat, and the looming possibility that he’ll always remember this every time he drives is quite high, but it’s all washed away as Atsumu presses one last kiss to his jaw, tasting the salt on his skin. And Hinata, winded and giddy and too tired to start to think about the clothes on the ground, shuts his eyes for just a second long, smile soft, Atsumu’s even hair softer between his fingers.

—

A week and three days after the meeting in _The Firebird,_ the mission is scheduled to begin. The twins pick him up in their shiny new car— electric, black, with a cherry red interior. Osamu drives, leaving Atsumu’s hands free to help Hinata sort the last of their equipment before they go in. Guns and knives are slipped in hidden holsters, plans are reviewed in full, and the last touches are set as they grow closer to their destination. With nothing left to do but wait, Hinata shifts to the centre seat and watches as Atsumu files down his nails, ever dedicated to a certain kind of poise and elegance. Both him and Osamu are dressed similarly, black pulled over dark grey shirts patterned with some kind of black velvet Hinata yearns to touch, thin black ties, hair unchanged from their usual style but lips coloured with a hint of rouge. Hinata isn’t sure he’s seen either with lipstick on before, stares at the two of them through the mirrors and lets his mind run wild with possibilities while he’s not yet on the job.

“Are you wearing the same outfit?” Hinata wonders aloud as he imagines red hot kisses leaving trails of lipstick along his jaw, trailing down his chest. Atsumu would kiss his hip bones and Osamu would hold him tighter, make a mess of his neck until it was red and blue, and _oh_ is that a dangerous thought to be having, two at once.

“No, they’re different,” Atsumu tells him, rolling his eyes. _“My_ shirt has flowers and _his_ shirt has paisleys.”

“Oh,” Hinata sighs, leaning back. “So you’re wearing the same thing.”

“Practically,” Osamu says. “Only mine is, by design, gayer.”

It’s then, kilometres before the parking lots ever begin, that the Marigold Casino comes into view. Two twisted towers stand on either side of an angular centre building, coated entirely in glass with spotlights swinging across the sky. Neon lights cycle through all the colours of the rainbow as signs coated in flashing bulbs advertise stores, celebrities, concerts and more, pointing to parking lots and metro stations near the complex. Atsumu rolls down his window and sticks out his head, wolf whistling as they round the corner. Osamu ignores the valet signs and parking lots, choosing instead to park in a municipal centre, leaving enough money to last until morning in the meter. He tucks the keys into his coat pocket and pulls out three small devices, tossing one to Atsumu as he steps out of the car.

“Walkie-talkies of the future,” Osamu says as Atsumu slips the device into his ear. He smiles, passing the last to Hinata. Hinata stamps on the last fleeting ideas of lust, nodding as he inspects his own. It’s tan, blending in with his skin tone to become barely noticable, fitting like a second skin.

“Now we’re all connected,” Hinata says, leaning against the hood of the car.

“You two go ahead in while I case the place,” Atsumu tells him. “I’ll follow ya.”

Osamu slips an arm around Hinata’s shoulders, humming. “We’ll take a look at the inside.”

Hinata controls his blush, chalking it up to the casual displays of touchiness the twins seem to have. Neither are the kind for well wishes before they start, Atsumu slipping into the shadows without another word and leaving Hinata alone with Osamu.

Osamu tugs him closer, leaning down to kiss the top of head and slip his hand down to his waist. “Showtime, babe.”

And despite his earlier promise, Hinata feels himself fluster at the surprise affection, stammering as his cheeks heat up in the fall air. Osamu chuckles low and steers them in the direction of the other smartly dressed passerbys, hand not leaving his waist as they maneuver through. The contact is oddly comforting to the nerves Hinata didn't even realize he had, calming his mind enough to focus on the task ahead of him while the phantom sensation of Osamu’s kiss, at the simple intimacy of an action unnecessary and not within the unspoken bounds of the relationship they’ve fostered. They never really talk about it, and never really did, not when Atsumu first cornered him after a mission and not when he walked in on him and Osamu pressed up against the wall. There’s acceptance and knowing between the three of them, but never a word to describe it. There never had to be, and now, in the beginning seconds of a mission worth a hundred million yen, is not the time to overthink an action simple, small, and overwhelmingly welcome.

The two climb large marble steps lined in glowing lights, passing traditional style fountains with pop-art sculptures at their centre. The water shoots up in multicoloured jetstreams, loud music already beginning to sing through the walls and echo into the night as they grow closer. The Marigold is no less impressive at a shorter distance— Hinata can come to appreciate the small details in the way the triangular panes of glass reflect the many flashing lights, some stained and others mirrors to create a strangely mesmerizing effect. Three bellhops wait on a group arriving in a stretch limousine, while another few welcome them with wide smiles and keen eyes. Hinata smiles right back, eyes wide half with wonder and half out of a need to observe, noting the cameras and security personnel standing at the door.

True to the plans Yong had given, there are no metal detectors as they enter into the main lobby— a room with a mirrored ceiling giving the impression that the already enormous room is larger than it really is. A woman in stilettos trips onto one of her friends and laughs loudly as a group of laughing elder men leave the casino entrance, ties hanging loose around their necks. It’s a bustling place filled with energy that fuels Hinata, leaving him wishing he could explore before heading into the fray.

 _“He ain’t got a lot of guards,”_ Atsumu says through the coms, voice clear through their ears. _“This security system is good, though. Glad there’s the backdoor.”_

Osamu hums, making eye contact with Hinata as he responds. “We’re just making our way into the casino now,” he tells him. “Shit, these are good quality. I can hear your voice like you’re right beside me.”

“Kenma doesn’t mess around with this stuff,” Hinata says as they stop in the line to the casino entrance, fishing out their IDs.

 _“If only the sucker was as good with his dye job as he is with his tech,”_ Atsumu chides. Hinata rolls his eyes, holding up his card for one of the men to check, Osamu momentarily detaching from his side to follow in suit.

They meet up once more inside, music twice as loud and pounding as their feet hit the red carpet of the casino. Laughter and chatter alike join the cacophony of gambling chips clattering against hardwood tables, cards shuffling, the shake of ice and alcohol in a mixer, each vying to be the loudest sound and creating a droning background noise. The walls are a deep blue velvet, accented with a rough cedar wood that matches the amber hues of the various tables people crowd around, money and chips flying and scattering across the ground. Hinata subconsciously tucks himself closer to Osamu as they weave through the bodies towards the bar in the centre. It’s a giant circle that wraps around a display case stretching up to the ceiling, backlit to showcase booze so expensive Hinata isn’t sure that he’d be able to count the zeros on the pricetag. It’s manned by several bartenders, all who take the busy atmosphere in stride, smiles showing hints of stress as they take orders and mix drinks for the lucky and unlucky alike.

Osamu pulls out Hinata’s chair as the two take a seat, eyes wandering around the casino to take note of the people around. Their first step is to snatch the master key from the bodyguard, then to disable the alarm system in the second tower. For now, they watch the room, Osamu leaning onto the bar and catching the attention of a more frazzled bartender.

“Gimme two sangrias, with a good red, if ya got one,” Osamu tells her.

The woman, middle aged but with her hair done up in a style that shows care and prestige, nods, wiping her brow before pulling a bottle off the rack. “Coming right up, sir!” she chimes, voice slightly strained.

“Busy night?” Hinata asks, resting his elbows on the bar.

She hesitates, nodding as she adds the components into a mixer. “Not people wise, but, ah… the owner is in the building tonight. Everyone wants to make a good impression.”

“Well, I think you’re doing a good job,” Hinata tells her as she pours the drink into two glasses, garnishing them quickly before sliding them their way.

She laughs, softer, taking a moment to stop her frantic pace. “Well, it’s my job.”

“Tell me,” Osamu interjects. “Is this man a gambler? He must be, if he owns the place.”

The woman shrugs. “I don’t know if he’s good or not, but he’s been hovering over the blackjack table for a good half hour now.”

Osamu nods taking a long sip of his drink as the woman busies herself with another customer. Hinata follows in suit, appreciating the fruity flavour as he drinks, taking a few small sips at a time.

“Well,” Osamu says quietly. “We found Daisuke.”

 _“And I found where we can disable the alarms in the second tower,”_ Atsumu tells them.

“Already?” Hinata asks, setting the drink down on the counter.

_“Of course— I know what I’m doin’. Need the master key to get in, though, so I’m comin’ your way.”_

“You know how to play blackjack??” Osamu asks Hinata, raising a brow as he takes another long sip from his glass.

Hinata contains the grin threatening to spread across his face, giddy as he shrugs. “I’m a quick learner.”

“Let’s hope you’re lucky,” he tells him, setting a few bills out onto the counter underneath his glass as he stands. Hinata picks the cherry out of his own, popping it into his mouth as he sadly leaves the rest untouched. With his tolerance, finishing the rest would be dicey.

Osamu links their arms together and guides him across the floor, the pair scanning tabes of roulette and craps, each with their own little crowds and various stakes. It isn’t long before they spot the growing groups of people within five feet of a small table. People break out into various choruses of excitement and disdain as the two patrons— a finely dressed middle aged man with jet black hair and a woman in a blue cocktail dress and dark hair falling halfway down her back— face off against the house.

“That’s him,” Hinata mumbles, turning to face Osamu only to realize he’s left. Instead, Atsumu stands at his side, having traded place with his twin. He grins down at Hinata’s split second confusion, hand resting on the small of Hinata’s back to push a little closer through the crowd.

“Feelin’ good? Wanna test fate?” Atsumu jests, tongue caught between teeth. Those red tinted lips shine in the bright lighting of the crystal chandelier, contrasting the whites of his teeth and the bronze of his skin. Hinata fights away the image of him peppering his cheeks and neck with tiny red kisses as he matches his smirk, tugging Atsumu forwards as Daisuke grins, laying down a winning hand.

They watch for a few rounds, noting the large piles of chips lying on the table. Daisuke taps his foot against the wood as the dealer, a young woman with glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, deals out the hands. Hinata follows their movements intently, enough so to get the gist of the game and its rules, spotting, in the corner of his eye, a burly man standing not a foot from Daisuke’s side. His wire and stance clearly single him out as the bodyguard, and as Hinata takes one last sweeping glance at the crowd around him, he spots a grey head of hair slipping into the mix.

“Excuse me!” Hinata pipes up, taking a step forwards, Atsumu following along.

Daisuke, the house, and the other woman turn, faces a mixture of surprise and amusement. Daisuke collects the chips he had just won and flashes a gaudy smile, one of a showman and one Hinata has spotted on every crook he’s ever met. “Yes?”

Atsumu, for all of his rough edges, manages to speak smooth. “My boyfriend here ‘nd I wanna chance our luck,” he says, leaving Hinata to nearly choke. “Are the empty seats still empty?”

Daisuke raises a brow, Hinata schooling his face as his mind runs on a continuous loop of _my boyfriend, my boyfriend, my boyfriend._ “My table is open, yes, but the buy-in is quite high,” he tells them. “Does five-hundred thousand yen scare you?”

“Nope!” Hinata says, grateful that his voice doesn’t jump an octave as he takes a seat. Atsumu snickers and sits down right beside him, both of them setting their chips down as their hands are dealt. There’s a buzz in his veins from the sangria and Atsumu’s eyes, and the promise of a hundred million yen the moment this night is over. He takes it all in stride and leans in, ready to play his part.

Atsumu hits the learning curve well before Hinata, losing money in the first round. His and Hinata’s ambition is matched, but he bites off more than he can chew early and pays for it, rolling his eyes in bitterness as the cards are shuffled, the house collecting and Daisuke earning more. Hinata doesn’t pay attention to any of it, stares down at his hand and lets the corners of his mouth quirk as he wins steady and small, increasing his bets bit by bit until the chips on the table begin to rival Daisuke’s.

“My my,” he comments, looking across to Atsumu. “Your man seems to have luck on his side.”

Atsumu grins, pressing closer to Hinata’s side. “He’s a charm, ain’t he?”

Hinata’s cheeks darken at the praise, the dealer asking for bets. Biting the inside of his cheek, assured by the paycheque tomorrow and the heat surrounding him, Hinata pushes all his chips forwards, watching the eyes of the dealer, Daisuke, and even the bodyguard go wide.

The crowd murmurs in excitement, Atsumu shaking his head as he takes his own modest bet. The woman panics and goes small, while Daisuke, ecstatic at the odds and the large pot, mirrors Hinata’s move.

At that, the crowd grows a little louder, a little bigger, and as cards are dealt and hands are read, Hinata spots beads of sweat on Daisuke’s face. When it comes time to lay the hands down, it’s almost near silence. The bustle of the casino fades away for a small moment as everyone leans in, wide eyed, whispering.

Atsumu whistles, and Daisuke’s face falls. “Damn. That’s cold.”

The dealer looks up to Hinata, smiling small as she pushes her glasses up. “Congratulations,” she says. “This is all yours.”

The crowd breaks off into mixed cheers at the underdog as Hinata grins, scooping up his chips and meeting Daisuke’s disbelieving eyes with his tongue in cheek. His blood pumps a little faster as he leans back into Atsumu, humming as he finishes collecting them all.

 _“I got the masterkey,”_ Osamu says through the comms, the excitement of the win only fueled by the adrenaline of the current mission. _“Nice one, Shouyou.”_

Hinata stands, taking a small bow. “Thank you for the game!” he tells Daisuke, Atsumu standing with him and wrapping his arms around his waist.

“You’re lucky, son,” Daisuke says, looking down at his hand once more.

“Oh, _I’m_ the lucky one,” Atsumu murmurs, tugging Hinata along. Hinata giggles, feeling his hands wandering across his back as they vanish between the crowd, Hinata accepting the various congratulations and dirty looks alike. It’s easy to be lost to the crowd once more, and in seconds, they’re ordinary casino goers once more.

“Let’s cash these in and get going,” Hinata says, shaking the bag.

 _“I’ll meet you both by the west entrance. There’s a way from here directly into the second tower,”_ Osamu says.

With that, they’re off, Hinata trading his chips for a sum that comes close to his portion of the paycheque, Atsumu leading him through the casino and towards where Osamu stands. He blends well into the blue velvet walls, eyes sharp as they meet Hinata’s from the room, tall, dark, and handsome in every sense of the word. Hinata swallows thickly, lets Atsumu take the lead, sticking to the crowds and avoiding cameras until they reach the room in question: an inconspicuous door marked _EMPLOYEES ONLY_ in bright red characters. Osamu tosses Hinata the key; all it takes to open is for him to hold the key up to the pad, the light flashing green and door unlocking.

It’s much smaller inside than they had believed, with the panel being tucked under an industrial style vent of some sorts. Atsumu stands watch down the hall while Osamu leans next to the open door, watching as Hinata quickly swipes the key through a second panel and inputs the deactivation codes. The screen flashes, alerting that all alarms are disabled, and Hinata takes a second to lock the selection for the rest of the night, flicking around on the screen to see what else is there. In a split second decision, he shuts off the camera’s taping, so at the very least there will be no footage to replay even if they are being watched.

He scoots out from underneath and wipes the dust from his black pants, turning to stand up and let the twins know he’s finished. Osamu is waiting for him, not by the door, but a hair’s width from his mouth, closing the gap and pulling him up to meet him. Hinata makes a noise of surprise before melting into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut while Osamu pets his hair in a way that makes his spine tingle, lips working smooth and buttery against his own. He allows himself to get lost in the rush, in the whirlwind of gambling, winning, and high stakes, in Osamu’s skilled tongue and the way his hands continue to massage circles into the nap of his neck. Hinata sighs— he didn’t know he loved this, didn’t know something so small could make him feel so much even after all they’ve done.

“Christ, ya couldn’t’ve chosen a bigger room?” Atsumu complains, sticking his head in the doorway.

Osamu pulls away, looking back at his brother with a deadpan expression. “Shaddup, s’just a kiss.”

Hinata clears his throat, tucking the masterkey away as he slips between the two. “L—let’s just find the service elevator. We can take the fire stairs once we’re within ten floors.

The three head off, using the master key to step into an empty service elevator that creaks as it settles. They step on and close the doors behind them, selecting the sixty eighth floor and sighing as it begins to move, slow, but steady. The momentary lapse in action gives them a moment to get their bearings, Hinata stretching out his arms as Atsumu loosens his tie.

“So, whatcha plannin’ to do with all that cash?” Atsumu asks him, leaning up against the wall. “How ‘bout a hot date?”

Osamu clicks his tongue. “High roller, you could get _much_ more than that,” he says. It’s roomy in the elevator, but he still stays pressed against Hinata’s side, the earthy scent of his cologne clouding Hinata’s head as he mulls over an answer.

“Probably, ah, save it? Give a chunk to my mom and dump a bunch in my little sister’s university fund,” he tells them.

“So kind, so proper,” Atsumu coos teasingly.

Osamu smiles softly. “That’s sweet. I’d love to meet them.” The comment has Hinata blushing further, stomach fluttering.

Atsumu spins on his heels, stuffing his tie into his jacket pocket. “Well, I know what I’m doin’ with _my_ earnings from all this,” he says.

Hinata cocks his head. “What?”

“For starters? Spoil the _shit_ outta you,” he tells him, grinning. Hinata chokes on his spit, not expecting the answer given. “I’ll double how many times I take you out in a month.”

“Quantity over quality?” Osamu snides.

Atsumu shakes his head, eyes still trained on Hinata. “Nah. Quality _and_ quantity. I’d list my ideas, but…” He trails off, smirking. “We don’t have time to get sidetracked with things like that.” Hinata’s cheeks heat up at the implication, eyes flicking from Atsumu to Osamu, who simply shoots him a sly smile.

With that, the elevator screeches to a halt, Hinata stumbling slightly and falling into Osamu. He’s caught easily, Osamu’s arms wrapping around his shoulders and straightening him within seconds. He winks, giving him a playful shove out of the elevator as they switch to climbing the service stairs, minds back in the game at hand.

“I’ll watch the hall,” Atsumu says as they continue to climb, footsteps echoing against the steel steps. “‘Samu, you can take the stairwell.”

“Sure,” Osamu says, stopping outside of the last floor labelled _SEVENTY-EIGHT_. He shoots Hinata one last grin, stepping out of the way so that Hinata can use the master key and unlock the door, allowing him to step in and make his way down the hall to the main door to the suite. The key unlocks it with ease, and with that, Hinata pockets it, slipping into his element as he shuts the door behind him.

The penthouse suite is as lavish as the rest of the casino. Minimalist in design, black marble lines the floor in large square tiles, the sheen contrasting the matte black walls. There are a few scattered photographs Hinata inspects as he passes, one of a large family and another of Daisuke and a similar looking older man he assumes to be his father. Hinata pads his way carefully through the living room, past the kitchen and enormous twelve person dining hall towards the door to the bedroom. It’s slightly ajar, a surefire sign of confidence in one’s security, leaving Hinata to slip through without worry of a secondary trap as his feet land on a plush fur rug.

Across from the king size bed and it’s double down duvet is a black metal safe. It rests on top of a dresser Hinata is sure holds plenty of other secrets he is not being paid to divulge despite his urge to pry. There’s no place to slot the key, leaving Hinata to put his finely tuned skills to good use as he listens to the mechanisms and picks his way through until a spring fires and the door comes loose, revealing a small red hard drive, small enough to be tucked into the breast pouch of his coat.

With that, Hinata shuts the safe and dashes back out, locking the door behind him and waving to Atsumu down the hall. Together, they slip back into the service staircase, closing the door shut behind them, Osamu waiting expectantly with his arms crosses and brow furrowed. At the sight of them, his face relaxes, relief settling into his features as Hinata slips him back the master key and shows them both the hard drive, safely tucked away in his coat, pride blooming in his chest.

“Well done,” Osamu says, bumping their hips together. “Now let’s get the hell outta here.”

“You gonna return that key?” Atsumu asks, resting his elbow on Hinata’s shoulder. Hinata controls the flush at both the praise and the casual contact, watching as Osamu nods and pushes the key up his sleeve.

“I’ll figure somethin’ out,” he says with a shrug, going on ahead. “I’ll meet you back in the casino— I’m gonna take the real elevator back down. You two can meet me there.”

With that, he vanishes, footfalls echoing into nothing as he slips away entirely. Hinata looks over to Atsumu, realizing that they’ve been left to walk the rest of the way down until they make it back to the unlocked door. With a heavy sigh, they begin walking, pace swift and quick and minds focused on the simple goal— _get out,_ the hardest part of any mission.

Of course, that’s when they hear voices from below, just a few floors away from their destination. Hinata’s eyes widen as he look up to Atsumu, silently mouthing _what are we gonna do?_ Atsumu, ever cool, ever calm, simply grins, surging forwards and pushing Hinata up against the wall.

It’s all the warning he gets, and once again, Hinata is left breathless with Atsumu all around him, only this time, everything is concentrated. Hands make quick work of untucking his shirt as Hinata releases an involuntary moan, Atsumu’s swallowing the noise. They haven’t even messed around since the time in the car, leaving Hinata and his higher than average libido a little desperate for contact and glowing in the hands gripping his waist. Hinata jumps, wrapping his legs around Atsumu’s middle and his arms around his neck as Atsumu holds him up, parting his lips for Atsumu’s tongue to press forwards and inside of his mouth. Still reeling, he tugs on Atsumu’s hair, _hard,_ earning him a groan that echoes off the steel beams and settles in the centre of his gut, heat building steady between the two as Atsumu breaks the kiss to bite down on Hinata’s jaw.

The footsteps and voices grow closer and pause at the platform. “Jesus—!” someone says, voice far away and not at all interesting when Atsumu is here, nibbling on his neck. “Dammit, it’s just some horny bastards. Let’s go.”

Hinata doesn’t even bother opening his eyes, breath hitching as Atsumu growls slightly, biting down on his neck once more. He presses his feet into the small of Atsumu’s back and whines, mind racing to figure out how much it’d cost him if they delayed the mission long enough to get themselves off.

That’s the moment Atsumu chooses to break the charade, pulling away from Hinata’s neck with a slight smack. Low and behold, a mark lies at the top of his jaw, angry and red and circled by a fair amount of lipstick that Hinata couldn’t remove even if he wanted to. Slowly, Atsumu sets him down, licking his lips and raising a brow as he opens the door and lets Hinata out, the two heading towards the regular elevator to make their way back to the casino.

 _“The hell are you two?”_ Osamu asks over the coms, and _oh god,_ Hinata thinks, _the comms were on._ His face grows hotter than it had all night as he the elevator speeds down, much faster than the service route, Atsumu standing uncaring and smug beside him.

“We were hiding.”

 _“Didn’t sound like hiding,”_ Osamu says. Hinata’s ears burn red as the elevator dings, signalling they’ve reached their destination— the ground floor. _“I’m sittin’ at the bar. ‘Tsumu, be useful and bring the car ‘round.”_

“Jealous?” Atsumu chides. It earns him a sigh, and Hinata can picture Osamu rolling his eyes as they stand outside of the casino entrance, Atsumu smiling down at him, glee plastered across his face. “I’ll see ya outside, money pot.”

Hinata licks his lips, and grins, quickly slipping the hard drive into Atsumu’s hand. “See you there.”

With that, they part ways, Atsumu slipping outside while Hinata makes his way back to the bar, no evidence on his person and only one thing left in his sights. Osamu sits with a brightly coloured drink in his hands, the bright hues of the casino dulled in compassion to the glow radiating from his cheeks as he spots Hinata from across the room. His eyes grow wider, and he smiles— all teeth— beckoning him forwards with come hither fingers and an open seat. Hinata slides up next to him, steals the drink from his hand, and downs the entire thing, marvelling at how smooth it goes down.

“Hard day at the office?” Osamu teases, hand resting at the small of his back.

Hinata sets the glass down, world spinning, just enough to need an anchor. He chooses Osamu, gripping onto his arm as he shrugs. “I’m off the clock now. Might as well unwind, right?”

Osamu’s eyes scan him once over, taking in the untucked shirt, loose tie, lipstick smears and a new hickey. He tosses another few bills on the bar and stands, offering Hinata an arm and a smile that could almost be called princely if Hinata didn’t know better.

“Then why don’t we get outta here?” he offers. There isn’t even a moment to decide; Hinata takes his arm and hops off, meandering with him out of the highs and lows of the casino, a hundred million yen already secured, all his worries subdued by good company. They make it halfway to the door before a hand brushes Hinata's shoulder, causing him to spin around and come face to face with none other than Daisuke.

“Ah, forgive me,” he says, voice fast, face more than disheveled and beaded with sweat. “I just… wanted to ask you not share any word of… your _success_ with any others. A sum could be provided if you and your boyfriend keep this, you know… hush hush.”

Osamu looks down at Hinata, momentary anxiety washed away by the bribery of a sore loser and the common occurrence of being mistaken for his twin. “My _boyfriend_ and I, _”_ he starts, not even bothering to spare Daisuke another glance, “would be happy to.”

They don’t stay to listen to his thanks, a wave away as they slip out the door and down the big marble stairs to where Atsumu waits, leaning against the hood of the car. He opens the passenger door, Osamu letting Hinata take it, before rounding the other side to start the engine and glance over towards the two, Hinata’s blush nearly as red as the interior seats.

“I can’t believe that man thinks we’re dating now,” he mumbles, holding his face in his hands.

Atsumu tilts his head, pulling onto the main road and leaving the Marigold Casino behind them. “That’s ‘cause we are, Shouyou,” he hums, as if it were the simplest fact in the word and not the spark of Hinata’s nightly denial.

Hinata jolts upright, looking between the two in disbelief. “Wait— what? We’ve— we’ve been _dating?”_ he exclaims. “I’ve been— both— both of you?”

Osamu holds back a laugh, leaning forwards on the centre console to poke Hinata’s cheek. “I’d say so. I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

“You can have my blessin’,” Atsumu adds. “I’m fine with you datin’ him too. I think _he’s_ more than fine with it.”

“Oh, I am,” Osamu says. “If that’s what you want. We can go back to that weird, not talking about it thing if ya want, though. No pressure either way.”

Hinata blinks, looking down at the hard drive sitting in the cupholder worth a hundred million yen, then back over to the two. Atsumu looks at him out of the corner of his eye as he rounds another corner, and Osamu leans close enough that his head rests on Hinata’s arm— simple intimacy, _affection._

“I— I think I’d like that,” Hinata stammers, rubbing his eyes. He looks back at them, watching their mirrored smiles grow. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.

The twins grin, sitting back as they head towards the drop off point. It might be a risk, or a gamble, or simply a fact Hinata was too blind to see. But he’s a few million yen richer and gained a kind of clarity he never thought he’d find in the depths of a casino— heaven for sinners, hell for the rest. Hinata lets his head hit the seat as he closes his eyes, neon lights dancing behind his eyelids as the high begins to fade into something warmer— familiarity. After all, who was he to pretend it wasn’t there all along?

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> find me nd mooks on twitter @spacegaykj and @mookzymooks and on tumblr @lesbianoikawa and @mooksmookin !!!


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